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by yuletide_archivist



Category: Torchwood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-17
Updated: 2006-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 05:48:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1634804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after Doomsday, but before the beginning of the Torchwood series.</p>
            </blockquote>





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**Author's Note:**

> Written for Taurenova

 

 

Jack sat back, tilting his desk chair until it squealed. It was always threatening to break or bend or tip over, but it never quite carried through. He pushed back from the desk with his feet and spun himself around slowly, lips pressed together as he thought about the case. A near miss, that one, and he'd have to give Owen a talking to later. Much later, when he could manage it with a straight face.

Because the image of Owen dripping in pink slime was still far too fresh to so much as look at Owen without laughing. Pity they'd never covered the fact that head butting an Aeslgean, while effective, was a messy, odiferous way to rid yourself of it.

Poor Owen had looked so offended by the team's laughter that Jack hadn't had the heart to tell him that he'd smell that way for at least a week.

At least they'd managed to save Earth once again, though the thought of the news footage of something that resembled nothing more than the Blob from the movies invading the planet was somewhat amusing. But they'd stopped it, and the Earth was, for the moment, safe and happy. As were his team.

He suspected that Owen was somewhere doused in cologne and shagging Suzie, much to Tosh's quiet dismay. They thought he had no idea what went on with them, thought that no one noticed the office relationships. People always thought that either everyone noticed everything, or no one cared enough to look.

It took perspective to see it all, and a certain amount of distance that only came with more experience than one could get in just one lifetime. One needed several lifetimes just to come to grips with the chance to get that kind of perspective.

But then precious few would understand that.

Well, the Aeslgean might. They lived for several thousand years, or so Tosh had said after her hasty research. He wasn't sure where Ianto had found that alien database, but one thing was certain, the new employee had definitely proven himself worth more than his salary in the short time he'd been there.

He watched Ianto cleaning up down below, the quiet clang of cups and plates muted by the distance. His looks alone were worth more than his salary, really, Jack thought, propping his cheek on his thumb and forefinger as he considered the Welshman. His looks and his patience. The team were pigs, and the less they had to clean up after themselves, the more they made a mess.

He'd tell them to let up, except he got the feeling that Ianto needed to be needed. And the more he had to clean up after them, the more he'd feel as though they couldn't do without him. Whatever pain was going on inside Ianto's pretty head, being part of Torchwood seemed to help.

Which worked out well, because Jack needed him. Needed him for more than just the office work or his knack for computers--not that he'd dare let Tosh know that he valued anyone's computer skills other than hers. She had enough issues with her own worth as it was.

No, he needed Ianto for knowledge that none of the others could possibly have. Most of Torchwood One's files were destroyed. What remained was only a fraction of what Ianto had in his head from the place. And he was the only one who knew his way around Torchwood One's system enough to pull more and more information out every time he tried. It was as if he had a relationship with that computer system that went beyond anything Jack had seen from a human with a computer.

He'd thought at first the Cybermen had managed to begin an upgrade on him before the destruction, but a little drugs and a long, thorough body scan with technology far beyond Earth's capabilities had revealed nothing out of the ordinary.

Well, except for what was revealed by the sterile gown they'd put him in, but Jack had tried not to look. Much.

After all, nice as the body was, he really *was* more interested in Ianto's mind. Interested in the knowledge of Torchwood One, and all that had gone on there. After all, Ianto had been there the day Jack was most interested in.

The day the Doctor had come to call.

Jack's eyes narrowed, focusing in on the hand bobbing around in liquid across the room. He hadn't asked how or why Ianto had saved it among the things he'd managed to salvage from Torchwood One's vast store of artifacts. He'd only been interested in the story behind it.

In all their time flitting around on the TARDIS, the Doctor had never mentioned he could regenerate.

Did that make them alike, then? After he'd realized he couldn't die, Jack had started experimenting. His eyes moved from the hand in the jar to his own as he flexed his perfect, whole pinky. The one he'd cut off three times. The first had been just the tip, just to test if it would grow back. The second and third had been further down, just for the fascination of watching it slowly glide back out, like a bizarre mini-lightsabre.

He'd bet Luke Skywalker would've given his right hand for that ability.

He was a lucky man. Anyone would tell him so. He had the world's coolest, most bizarre job. He had enough mystery to keep him entertained and interested for thousands of years if he wished. A good thing when one couldn't die.

Of course, the rest of his team was not quite so lucky. They had the mystery and the job. But they had such short lives. And he couldn't tell them, he'd never managed to figure out how to admit that to anyone. You didn't dare tell anyone you didn't trust, and once you got to know them well enough to trust them, how could you tell them?

You couldn't. So you didn't. And you went on, through time, and through space.

He'd landed here and now, though, and he was going to change what he knew was to come. For that he needed a good, strong team, and he was amassing it here in the middle of Cardiff, of all places.

Oh, well, it was better than Birmingham, he supposed.

The Rift had brought them all sorts of strange and interesting things, and he knew if he could just bide his time, it would bring the one person he knew could understand all the wonder and the joy and the sad loneliness of moving through time, both through time travel and just living long, careless years, without any constant except yourself.

He smiled as he looked at the hand again. He knew it was only a matter of time, and he couldn't wait. It was the first time he'd truly anticipated an event with joy instead of dread. And it was close. He could feel it.

Of course, "close" was relative to an immortal time traveler. But he could wait, and happily, knowing it was going to happen.

After all, he had nothing but time.

\---  
END

 

 

 


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